The Stone Prince
by sorka robinton
Summary: My own fairy tale; an unloved princess wanders and finds a sleeping statue with a magical curse on it. Almost a Sleeping Beauty rewrite, but not quite. Actually, it could be. Please read and review?
1. the castle and the statue

hello...this is an idea.   
  
~~~~~~  
  
Mirianne sighed. "Please, Alli, just be quiet!" she breathed, her basket heavy on her arm. "It's not a plague. Green things are actually good for you!"   
  
Her older sister sniffed, tossing her beautiful blonde hair over her silken shoulder. "Perhaps for you, but I wish to marry, not slave away in the woods!" Her voice ended in a wail of anguish, brushing a harmless treefly from her immaculate sleeve. "I don't wish to be here!" She fingered the jeweled necklace at her neck, frowning. Even in unhappiness, Alliaria was beautiful, Miri noticed impassively.   
  
"I know the way home," Mirianne said blithely. "Unless you wish to discover the hidden paths. We shall be done in a moment or two, 'sister dearest,' and father has given you your share of the work." Alliaria sniffed with disdain, holding her light basket an arm's length away.   
  
"Please. I have marriage prospects, and you do not. Let's leave it at that," Alliaria snapped. "Father allows you your silly ventures because he loves you, and wishes to make up for what you are not- a daughter of his first wife."   
  
"He loved my mother," Mirianne said, voice low with anger.   
  
Alliaria's beautiful mouth curved with distain, delicate brows arched. "How dedicated, when he allows her only daughter roam the dangerous forests. He loves you, but doesn't know how. How shocking, when she was just a simple commoner, a herder's daughter-"   
  
Miri's mouth tightened to a hard line. "Go home, then." Alliaria blinked, surprised by the unsuspected respite. "I don't care, much. Or find your own way back, stick to the marked path until you come to the great Oak." When her elder sister hesitated, Mirianne turned away and through the trees.   
  
"But Miri." For once, Alli's voice was repentant only for manipulative purposes, Miri knew well enough by now. "I'm sorry, I didn't truly mean it. What would father say, if I left you alone in the woods?"   
  
"Leave, Alliaria. I'm weary of your tricks." Departing through the trees to the path, the elder girl disappeared. Miri wiped her eyes, unhappily weaving through the willows, her hands on the branches. Her common born hands.   
  
"So I'm only half-royal. So I don't have golden hair and languishing blue eyes. So-" Tears pricked her own, green and betraying, as she stumbled through the mossy banks of the river. Walking on, light slippers softly stepping over the forest floor, her tears dissipated slowly in the twilight. Washing her hands in a small pool of water near the riverbank, she stared at her reflection. "I'm not blonde, or blue-eyed like the King, instead green-eyed and dark haired like my mother." That was a stigma that laid its clammy hand heavily on her shoulders at Court, despite her reasonably pretty features. She had decided years ago that she was nearly as beautiful as Alliaria, only lacking in height and perhaps confidence. But that was before the marriage offers for her elder sister came, and none at all for the little daughter of the commoner.   
  
It was nearly dark before Mirianne remembered where she was, tramping around the darkened forest alone. Whirling around, skirts flying, she caught no sight of the path. "Oh, what I fool I was," she spoke aloud to the air. Pushing through the poking thornapple bushes, her braided hair caught on branches and her skin was scratched as she fought past the wild hedges. Blood welled at the deepest lesions, and her eyes watered from the stinging pain. As she tripped past the sharp thorns, her foot stumbled on a cobblestone and her head flew up.   
  
She was standing in the middle of a courtyard, its foundations dust free but devoid of any human life. "What is this place," she whispered. Touching the solid grey stones with a sap-covered hand, her words echoed through the empty palace. Softly stepping over wildflowers sprouting between the stones, she idly picked a handful before wandering once more. "Anyone here?" she called out. Strangely, the deserted castle did not frighten her; instead, the silence rolled around her warmly like the arms of a friend.   
  
The great wooden doors, inlaid with a dazzling mosaic of shimmering mother-of-pearl chips, creaked open under her small hand. Twitching her long, black braid out of the way, she stepped inside the large room. "Hello?" she called out, but was answered by absolute quiet.   
  
"The lack of sound," Miri announced to the air, "Is beginning to weigh heavily on my ears. How is it that there is no dust, no creeping mice, no wolly bugs after all these years?" She sighed, for there was no response. The rooms were filled with rich furniture and fine trinkets, the closets brimming with clothing and jewels. "Alliaria would be pleased with this place," she said quietly, though she knew she would never bring her sister to this peaceful haven.   
  
After a while, after full dark, she found a beautifully jeweled candlestick and lit it with her firestone. The sparks lit the fine wax candle quickly, and lit up the room with even light. "What craftsman worked this lovely thing?" she asked the air, peering at the design of the small sapphires and emeralds. Stepping through yet another doorway, she was rewarded with the first truly interesting sight.   
  
In the center of the room, on a pedestal of pure white marble, lay a figure of a man. As she ventured closer, his features became clearer; the entire body was carved out of white marble, as if the person himself were sleeping.   
  
It was a young man, with fine, curling hair that fell over his noble forehead in gentle waves. His eyes were closed, but they were large and perfectly set in a handsome face with a proud, strong nose. He lay in a comfortable position, on his back, but arms resting gently on his stomach. In his left hand lay a marble scroll, open but blank, and the other hand held a jeweled ring carved of marble.   
  
"What..." Mirianne began, but silenced herself. "Why am I talking to thin air?" she said jokingly, and looked out the window. The pale, perfect crescent of the moon glowed back at her, surrounded by its star attendants. "And where am I?" she murmured, staring into still face of the carving. "I feel...so drab, so insignificant in this palace of yours." She laid the handful of bluebells and daisies on the marble, their vibrant colors shimmering against the polished white marble.   
  
I must be going crazy, she thought to herself, but I feel as if this place were listening to me. "You know," Miri said conversationally, "I wonder if you were a scholarly person, or a gentleman of the court. I do believe you look as if you were of a royal court, the kind of male that Alliaria would covet as her heart's desire." Mirianne let out a little sigh, and sat at the edge of the pedestal.   
  
"Then again, Alliaria could easily get whom she wished," she said bitterly, "while no one, not even her sister, would have anything to do with the strange offspring of a commoner, albeit a King's daughter." Catching herself, Mirianne wiped her eyes. "Self-pity is a terrible thing," she continued, angrily. "After all, I am lost; that is a bigger problem, isn't it?" Peering out of the window again, at the pitch-black sky, the princess felt another tear slip down her cheek.   
  
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering your peaceful rest," she told the statue. "Am I going mad? Do I think you're listening to me?" She inspected the pale, unchanged face, with its perfect features. "Silly of me." Slipping to the floor, she wondered how she would ever find her home again, and rested her head on her scratched and bleeding forearms. "And shouldn't I be frightened of this empty place?" she murmured, before drifting off to sleep.   
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
She woke with the bright sunshine on her face, dark hair loose from its braid from where she lay on the floor. Sitting up with a start, she remembered with a sigh where she was. "It's morning," Miri announced to the air. "I wonder if I can find my way home-" she stopped, for she had glanced at the reclining statue and froze.   
  
Inscribed on the young man's scroll were the words:  
  


What is your name?  
  


Staring with large eyes at the writing that had not been there before, Mirianne gasped and jumped away from the marble carving. "What..." she cried before snatching up her basket and candlestick hastily and running out of the room.   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
what do you think? please review. 


	2. the speaking scroll

thanks for your great reviews! i feel so loved...anyway, i'll try to continue the best i can, with school and all...  
  
luv, sorka  
~~~~~~  
  
Mirianne tore through the palace, irrationally panicking as she stumbled into the bright sunlight. Fiercely fighting off the thorny branches, her old gashes reopened and she gasped at the sharp, burning pain of both old and new scratches stung.   
  
She was nearly to the riverbank before she stopped, panting for breath. Hands trembling, the girl washed the scrapes and bleeding skin lacerations with the cold water. "What was I thinking?" she thought, laughing inwardly at herself.   
  
The idea of a spirit, or an elemental, in the palace chilled her more than the icy water. "Silly of me," she scoffed. "It was dark, wasn't it? And I probably did not see the words, carved as they were." The wounds in her arms still bled, and she sighed, swiping at the small pricks of crimson.   
  
Twitching her long, layered skirts out of the way, Mirianne wondered when the early spring weather would permit her to switch to lighter, single skirts and dresses. But then she frowned, for it hadn't been the least bit chilly in the palace. "No drafts," she assured herself, eagerly finding justification for any oddity of the quiet place.   
  
After a brief half-hour's walk, she came to the well-worn path. Miri stopped, confused, as her green eyes scanned behind her. "It was at least a handful of hours yesterday, to the palace..." she muttered. Turning, she saw no sign of the tall turrets or the deep grey battlements.   
  
She was about to turn around and walk directly back, when a shout reached her ears. Her eldest brother, along with what seemed like half a regiment of soldiers, galloped up the dirt path, followed by the sulky, spoiled pony of Alliaria. "Mirianne?"   
  
"Kayden?" she asked, suprised, before remembering that she had been missing for the entire night and at least half a morning.   
  
He dismounted, handing the reins of his fine, black dappled stallion to his first-in-command. "We've been searching the woods," he told his sister reproachfully, "All afraid one of the hungry keneks or larger brown mesols had attacked you." And quieter yet, the prince asked Mirianne, "What happened?"   
  
"Not much," she replied, thinking of the silent stone castle. "After dark, I stayed away from the large trees."   
  
"I meant," he continued dryly, "with Alliaria." Kayden's mouth twisted to the side slightly as he regarded his full-blooded sister sourly. "She's a wicked one, is she not?"   
  
"She's your sister."   
  
"And so are you. Despite what she says."   
  
Mirianne bit her lip and sighed, something she had been doing quite often, lately. "What she says is true, though perhaps not in exactly the same light," she replied diplomatically. "And while her sharp tongue was let out of it's scabbard last night, it was no reason to stay lost in the woods at night."   
  
"Whatever you say," the prince brushed away her words as he mounted his horse. "I still think she's a useless appendage." This he said loud enough for the elder sister to hear, and Alliaria scowled at Kayden. "And whatever did you do to your arms?"   
  
"Thornapple bushes," Miri murmured succinctly, brushing at the beads of blood before lightly leaping behind Kayden onto his horse's back, something that Alliaria would never attempt. She held this ability in high regard, knowing that her sister needed a stepping block to mount even her small pony. The company rode back to the city in higher spirits, and Miri even allowed herself to smile at her strange secret.   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Father," Miri repeated once more, "I am safe in the woods, as long as I do not spend another long night in it's shadow."   
  
The King rubbed at his temples with a sigh. "I should hope so; you spend enough time inside it. But I would prefer..." His eyes on her were filled with vague kindness, the easiest way for the monarch to deal with the daughter that his people did not want.   
  
Olyandar let out a small cough. "Sire, it proves useful for the girl to practice her herbcraft, for she does seem to have a gift at plants and healing." The king's personal mage stood firm, pale violet eyes glinting like a peaceful dawn before a storm.   
  
The mage's words stung, for the connotation of magic was a sore spot in Mirianne's heart. How the king trusted him so readily, she would never know. "I have no gift, sir," she began stiffly, before his hand waved her protests away.   
  
"I apologize, Princess, for the unlucky slip of my tongue," Olyandar continued, eyes piercing into her own. "Despite the - well, rumors-"   
  
The hardness in the King's voice stopped Olyandar in his train of thought. "We were discussing the matter at hand," he said coldly, once more leaning his greying head onto a tired fist. When had her father grown so old? His strong arm was no less powerful, yet a shadow of age had cast its dim hand over his presence.   
  
"I deem it safe," Olyandar pressed, and the King acquiesced to his mage and advisor's glib words. Her father nodded, allowing her permission in the same way he always had, since she had been a small child.   
  
Departing from the council chambers, Olyandar on her heels, the mage asked, "Was it truly dangerous?" The tone of his voice, slightly grating, sent a slight ray of consciousness into her weary mind. "Have you seen anything?"   
  
"Of course not," she scoffed, for the mage's tone implied her incompetance. "There was nothing out there but trees, no wild keneks to be seen or heard." Her throat was squeezed tight as she spoke, as if an unseen hand gripped it with clammy palms.   
  
"I meant," said Olyandar's, voice chilly, "Was there anything there? Such as a cottage, or structure..." His violet eyes were like steel bands around her neck, Miri decided uncomfortably. And for what motive would he want this information, what good would it bring? A light sweat broke out on her pale, unblemished forehead.   
  
She remembered the time three years ago, when middle-aged Olyandar had pressed for marriage, first with Alliaria and then with herself only to be denied by both the King and Kayden. His sly ambition had bothered her even then, and had ever since she could remember as a tiny child in the large palace. Since he had first patted her hair, murmuring a prayer or incantations of sorts, when she was but four years old, a silky flower in her tiny hand.   
  
She hated speaking to him, and the strange flickering light in his oddly colored eyes frightened her.   
  
"Nothing," she told him firmly. The mysterious castle, and its secret, were hers alone. The weight that rested upon her chest grew no lighter, as it had not during the past twelve years since she was four, and she carefully walked away from the sorcerer.   
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
As she travelled the flowery paths along the forest, Mirianne allowed herself a derisive laugh at her own fear. "I mean, after all, the words were probably there to begin with. In the shadows."  
  
"But then why," she added to the listening air, "am I arguing with myself, if it was simply nothing?" The silence had no answer to that question. Steeling her nerves, Mirianne had convinced both her father and Kayden to allow her to wander the woods again, for both herbs and plants. Despite her strange, irrational fear, she did wish to return to the quiet stone walls, and her curiosity was afire.   
  
"At least, Alliaria is not allowed with me, anymore." Swinging the basket freely, for it was yet empty, Miri felt the urge to sing in the cool, sweet spring air, though she restrained the urge. Once again, she stepped off the path hesitantly, feeling her soft boot rustle in the soft grass.   
  
Miri followed the same path she had before, along the river bank, but this time her feet seemed to know exactly which direction to walk. And to her surprise, the way seemed quite shorter, though not the half-hour of the day before.   
  
This time, small knife in hand, she carefully pruned back the thornapple bushes, only pruning those branches that were dead or dying. Creating a small, narrow path, Miri slipped through unscathed and through the courtyard. "What a mess," she murmured, peering at the weeds and wildflowers poking through the stones. "Does no one else come here?" She truly hoped not; being the only one was exciting in its own way.   
  
Reminding herself to bring a trowel the next time, she walked through the door, which opened slightly more easier than before, and towards the statue chamber once more. Despite the slight prickles on the back of her neck, Miri forced herself to keep walking forward.   
  
Timidly entering the room, a quick glance reassured her. "What is your name" still graced the marble scroll, and the still and ever-calm face of the young man was constant.   
  
"You have no idea how relieved I am," Miri told the statue. "I was afraid you were magicked, or whatnot." Resting her basket of herbs on the floor, she produced a small stack of fabric squares and some thread. "I make these, for the palace. I like herbs, and plants, and green things, you know," she continued conversationally. Her deft fingers stitched rapidly, leaving a row of neat, uniform stitches in their path. "My mother loved plants, every kind of them." Miri swallowed, remembering the hated word whispered in court- Greenwitch- and smiled brightly instead. "I think I've inherited her obsession."   
  
"I must be crazy!" she exclaimed, still speaking to the statue. "Why am I pouring out my life story, while I'm talking to an inanimate carv-" Miri's eyes widened, her numb fingers dropping needle and thread.   
  
The words on the scroll had changed yet again. Though the man's face was as serene as the day before, a new inscription followed the original.   
  


What is your name?   
I listen.   


  
Mirianne's heart pounded, and stumbling up from where she was seated backed away from the marble figure. "What is happening?" she whispered, before her knees gave way. "What enchantment is this? I am a healer, no sorcerer mage!"   
  
Her legs would not carry her slight weight, so she dragged herself towards the figure like a supplicant, on hands and knees. A tear ran down her cheek even as her pride stubbornly refused to let her leave. "So confused," she murmured, wiping her eyes as she fought to breathe evenly. The silence cushioned her, wrapping around her shaking form as softly as a lover's arms.   
  
"My name is Mirianne of Tirradel," she began, voice shaky. "Does that help? I am of the family line Rosatyne, Fireflower in the old Language, and the third child and second daughter of King Teros." Staring hard at the marble scroll, the words remained the same.   
  
After several minutes of this, she sighed and stared at her hands. "I think I am going crazy," she told herself once more, but this time Miri's voice held a smile. "I accept this, strangely. I would think I would be more frightened, but I think my initial hysteria is over."   
  
"You listen?" she began, looking up, and for the second time read a message-   
  


I thank you for your name,   
for I have not heard any spoken   
words for many years.   
  
Will you talk to me?   
It is very lonely where I am.   
  


"I should not look away, for then you write to me," she informed the statue. "First, I have a question. Who- and what are you? Where are you, strange Lord, that you might be lonely?" Miri looked away, then peered at the scroll again. No change. She tried again, but with the same result.   
  
"Ah, but you have caught me, haven't you?" Though her hands were yet shaky, she picked up her sewing once more. "Then I shall simply talk, if that is what you yearn for, my Lord. These are sachets, for ginnelle leaves, but not for scent: under your pillow can help chest colds."   
  
Her tears had faded, and Miri felt strangely content as she leaned her back against the marble statue's base. The stone was strangely warm, and it was a comfort to rest herself against it. It almost seemed to lift the solemn, painful weight in her chest with its consoling serenity.   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
  



	3. conversations

hi again! sorry its been a while...and its a bit short...im sorry  
  
thanks for the great reviews! by the way, what you guys say, after i'm done with the chapters im going to add an entire version at the end of the story, revised and all, if i have the time. i don't want to go back and change things now, but i will when i edit it for the last draft...though i'll post it as a chapter.   
  
okay, sorka's tired. bye.   
  
~~~~~~~  
  
A week had passed.   
  
Miri sighed, for no message had appeared as of yet on the scroll of marble. "Mystery man," she told him, "I am greatly curious about you, and what...what you may be. My Lord, when may I hear this?"   
  
No answer. "Well, as expected," she replied to his silence. "Today, I shall speak of my brother Kayden."   
  
"He is four and twenty years old, eight above me and four above my sister, Alliaria. Kayden is the son of King Teros and Queen Roseale, their only son. When my father passes to the next world, Kayden will be King after him, the seventh in the Fireflower line."   
  
She paused, trying to grasp the words to describe her brother. "He's the kindest," she said truthfully. "Since I was a tiny girl, and my mother had died, he was so wonderful to me. He made sure that Alliaria would not torment me, and the servants also. I owe him my sanity," Miri added with a slight grin. And also, she though privately, I am grateful that he forced Father to allow me to veto any betrothals.   
  
"He loved me as a true sister, a fullblood," she said slowly. "I- my mother was a common woman from the mountains. I believe, as Kayden also does, that father did love her, though that is not...what most would say. They say she was a _Greenwitch_," she heard her voice continue on, candidly and detached. "It's been a relief that I haven't had her healing touch, or strange 'powers,' though the fact that I love plants is quite disturbing."   
  
"Sometimes, in weaker moments-" Miri's breath caught in her throat, but she continued nonetheless- "I wonder, if she was. A witch."   
  
"Evidently, Olyandar seems to expect it. Which is one of the reasons he wished to wed me, not only because I am my father's daughter but he hoped to wield the magick that I did not have."   
  
The silence was deeply comforting as Mirianne leaned her back against the blessed relief of the marble. Even as she returned home, the weight on her chest seemed lighter, despite her seperation from the strange stone. "It's quite nice to lean on," she murmured to herself. "I do wonder why."   
  
A little nervous laugh accompanied that thought. "My Lord," she said, a bit sheepish. "I have revealed some of my thoughts to you, I would like to even know your name- Oh! But you have!" The words had shifted on the marble. "I apologize."   
  


Lady Mirianne-  
  
I am, or was,  
Davien of Irinath, first son  
of the King of Alar,  
of the line Runemal.  
  
I do not know where I am.   
It is dark, and I cannot see,  
only hear the blessed  
comfort of your voice.  
I have not heard any but my own  
for many years.  
  
I thank you.  
  


Delighted, Mirianne answered. "Alar? But I have never heard of a country called Alar, or the name Runemal." With her competant but far from fluent knowledge of the old Language, she murmured, "The family line, Greystone."   
  
"It has been a pleasure to meet you, Prince Davien." Her face blanched at the next subject on the scroll, a dismal and despairing existance. "I wish I could help, so greatly. But..." she hesitated. "I have no magic, and the only mage I know of I do not trust."   
  
She shook the bleak thoughts from her head, black braid swinging through the clear air. "Dratted hair." After another passage of idle talking, of the small pink flower Uusa that was used for lowering fevers and sweats, she was greeted with a new message.   
  


Mirianne-   
  
I have been sleeping long,  
which may be the reason that   
the name Runemal has been forgotton.   
Strange, to be yet young and yet   
old at the same time, is it not?  
  
I apologize for my slow   
answers, yet it takes a deal  
of strong concentration   
to communicate. I truly  
enjoy your company. Will you  
come to see me again?  
  
I may not be able to reach   
you once more in this day, so  
farewell for now, Mirianne.  
I'll hear you soon, though perhaps  
not exactly see you soon?  
  
-Davien  


  
Miri smiled, her heart lifting. "Amazing," she told him, pleased with his bit of humor. She was glad, so glad, that his ordeal had not taken away the young man's wit. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Mirianne told Davien. "I will return tomorrow, if I may?"   
  
Returning to the palace, with its cold servants and scornful Nobles, would be even tolerable if it meant that the next day she would spend in the mysterious palace, with its mysterious secret. And the mysterious secret of Davien.   
  
Her heart rose higher than she could ever remember, the oppressive weight on her heart even lifting slightly. For the first time, the unwanted Princess of Tirradel was wished for, serving a purpose that truly meant a world to another human being.   
  
The sensation was like flying, or perhaps that was only her soul rising up to touch the sky.   
  
~~~~~~~  
  
As the weeks passed, his answers appeared faster and faster, though yet required a long interval.   
  
"Davien," she had asked once, "What ever did happen, that you came under such a spell?" The silence after she had spoken was deep, and her sweet alto rang even in her own ears.   
  
"I am sorry," she began after a half-hour of awkward quiet. "I should not have asked."   
  


Mirianne-  
  
It is of no consequence that  
you have asked. Many years ago,  
my father was King in this land. It's  
been dozens and dozens, and I have   
failed to keep accurate count.   
  
All I know is that a man of great power  
entered our peaceful kingdom,   
laid a sleep-spell over the people,   
who disappeared instantly when he  
waved his hand. He slew my father  
through supernatural means.  
  
The last I can remember is  
drawing my blade, too late,  
and before I plunged it into his  
evil heart I was torn from the  
world and in a dark, grey place.  
I can only hear, and have no  
sense of presence whatsoever.   
  
-Davien  
  


Miri shook her head. "I apologize, Davien. I did not mean to bring up painful memories."   
  
"A man of magick, you say? Where did he go, after the castle and kingdom were incapacitated?" Mirianne wondered also what became of the common people. "Why are you in the shape of a stone, and not simply vanished?"   
  
Mirianne could have sworn she could hear the pride in his words as Davien replied to her.   
  


Princess-   
  
He could not dominate the spirit  
of the castle, which holds in itself  
years of monarchs and mages.  
He who wore the embroidered robes,  
of a white and pink design of   
petaled flowers, eventually left when  
his attempts grew fruitless.   
  
I myself am here because of  
a charm my mother had given me  
as a child. It was evidently  
quite powerful, and prevented me  
from being entirely destroyed by  
his wrath. It keeps me from falling  
away from this world, and allows me   
enough freedom to communicate.   
  
-Davien  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
this was kinda sucky. sorry. heh. tiiiiired. 


	4. plant mage

hey  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
Nearly a year had passed, and without fail the little princess had disappeared in the mornings with a basket on her arm.   
  
"Except for the restday," she told herself, walking merrily along the dirt path. "Father insists on my attendance, then." With true remorse, Mirianne recalled the slight crease between King Teros' eyebrows as she wandered away, spending less and less time at the palace and more in the wild woods. One positive factor was that Olyandar avoided her, beaded robes swishing quickly as he deftly excused himself from her presence.   
  
His lavender eyes grew increasingly pensive, and Miri was glad of the excuse to be far away from him. Snaps in his words or of his thin fingers startled the scaled winged lizard he kept on his shoulder, whether as a pet or to frighten others she did not know. Certainly it had subdued many of the serving maids with its gutteral calls. "Princess, you should not wander so," Olyandar would say nervously, fingers in constant motion. "Is not the palace fully stocked, without prompting the slavish labor of its maidens?" The weight over her heart was unbearable in his company, and she hastened away to the stone castle to clear the heaviness with the cool, sweet air.   
  
"The storeroom is brimming, Miri," Kayden joked, though his eyes held the same worry as their father's. "What more must you do? No one can say you have been idle or useless." She had smiled at him, to allay some of his worries. Not that he had been around lately, anyway. He was vigourously courting the daughter of the Lord of Eremay, gallently riding across hill and plain to bask in her company.   
  
She reached the stone castle easily, now, after but a few minutes of stepping off the road into the trees. It occurred to her that she should be frightened of the sorcery, but Miri embraced the lapse instead, as she had accepted the lifting of the weight on her bosom. Walking through the neatly controlled thornapple bushes, and over the weedless cobbles, she stepped quickly over to her herb garden and harvested Uusa blossoms.   
  
"Dav, I'm here," she called out, for he did prefer to known when she came, though she sometimes first spent time in the garden. It was easier, that way, rather than dashing around hurriedly, anxiously searching for suitable herbs so she could spend even more time at the castle. This way she could ratify her ratify her excuse of gathering without suspicion.   
  
Sufficiently pleased with the amount of Uusa, their soft pink petals brushing against her palm, Miri brought out her basket with her sachets and thread. "Hello, Dav." For the hundredth time, she wished he could speak to her, but was content to lean against the cool serenity of the marble. "How are you this day?"   
  
"Yesterday, a brawl in the courtyard depleated the palace's supply of Uusa, mostly for bloody noses and minor scratches." Mirianne laughed out loud. "All over the choice portion of the banquet's roast, and father's face turned red with his angry roaring."   
  
Glancing over to her strange friend, she grinned as she read his answer.   
  


Miri-  
  
Those who fight for the  
hero's portion deserve  
the trouble they receive for  
their efforts. And it must  
have been quite a hilarious   
sight, wasn't it?  
  
-Dav  
  


"Quite true." Mirianne held the soft flower to her nose. "And a waste of Uusa. It's such a lovely flower, but always dried before they have the chance to really reach their prime." Inhaling the sweet scent, she smiled and leaned over the marble edge to place the blossom in Davien's marble hand. She had never asked if he could feel, though she assumed that because he could not see in the magical imprisonment he could also not wield the sense of touch.   
  
Just as she was about to put the Uusa down, the tiny plant twisted in her hand. "Oh!" she cried aloud. The stem had lengthened by at least an inch, and a myriad of tiny roots swung gently from the cut end. "What has happened?" Peering closer at the Uusa nestled in her palm, it continued to grow slowly.   
  
"Dav," she whispered, panicking. "Dav! What is happening? Why is it growing?" Mirianne dropped the small plant onto his still stone chest, voice shaking.   
  


Dear Miri-  
  
There is nothing wrong   
at all, just that by the healing  
nature of this castle has   
broken the spell over your powers.  
Have you not felt the burden being  
lifted from your soul?  
  
Faithfully, Dav  


  
She laid her shaking hand on the stiff, carved sleeve. "What powers?" she asked, genuinely confused. "I have no magick, not a whit. Dear Dav, you know that, right? No one has magick now. Not even the greenwitches, or sorcerers. They merely chant!"   


  


Silence stole over the room, the only audible sound her harsh breathing, until his answer appeared on the marble.   


  
My friend, do not worry.   
Yours is a healing power.   
I do not know what heavy spell  
had been cast upon you,  
but do not worry-  
it has nearly been lifted.   
  
I had no idea that the   
magick blood had thinned so,   
for in my time there were many   
with a gift. Miri, even as the weight   
is lifted from yourself, I can feel   
myself growing stronger and   
stronger. I believe I have you to  
thank for this help.   
  
You are a healer of many kinds,  
of the mind and soul.  
  
Plants included.  
  
Yours ever, Dav  
  


She rested her aching forehead against the cool stone, something that she always found consoling. "So confusing," she said quietly, green eyes thoughtful. "I wonder what spell it was." Mirianne picked up the abandoned flower. "Thank you, Dav. I wish you were here with me." The silence after her words was reproachful.   
  
Laughing a little bit, she tugged at her loose braid. "My apologies, for you are here, yet you do understand what I mean, do you not?" Her mirth allowed her to relax from the fright, and she carefully recollected the Uusa flower. "No growth," Mirianne said, surprised. "Perhaps it is a matter of control." She smiled at the small bit of plant in her hand before turning back to the sleeping Davien.  
  
Sobering, she hesitantly touched his stone forehead. "You have been my friend." In a moment of weakness, she allowed herself to gaze at his handsome marble face. "Thank you," Miri said gratefully. "You have my love and gratitude." Once the words had left her mouth, she blushed, but did not make any move to retract them.   
  
Finishing her herbal sachets, she briefly reglanced at his face, and could have sworn that his mouth was no longer relaxed in sleeping but wore a slight smile. She wondered if it was a lift in the spell, or simply her imagination. Scooping up the tiny growing Uusa, she transplanted it into a small pot of dirt and placed it by the clear glass window.   
  
Even if he could not see, Davien deserved a bit of plant in his room, didn't he? The afternoon sun briefly framed the small flower, and she bid her day's farewell to the sleeping prince.   
  
~~~~~~~~  



End file.
